


At Dragon’s Call And Destiny’s Prayer

by stillwaters01



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:08:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillwaters01/pseuds/stillwaters01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a poisoned Merlin fights Kilgharrah’s attempt to heal him, no longer recognizing their kinship, Kilgharrah realizes that the warlock’s survival would depend, not on the ancient bond between dragons and dragonlords, but on a bond of a different kind. It was time to summon Gaius.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Dragon’s Call And Destiny’s Prayer

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin. Just playing, with love and respect to those who brought these characters to life.
> 
> Written: 4/28/13 – 5/13/13
> 
> Notes: This was one of those ideas that came out of nowhere with vivid images and dialogue demanding release, yet still took days of writing and editing to tell. It’s set sometime before “Aithusa”, when Kilgharrah was still thought to be the last of his kind. Apparently, I just can’t get enough of writing the relationship between Merlin and Gaius! As always, I truly hope I did the characters justice. Thank you for reading and for your support as I explore this world.

 

 

 

Heart racing after a punishing ride with only the gnawing worry of uncertainty to accompany him, Gaius stepped beyond the tree line and into the very pages of Camelot’s banned books come to life. For there stood Kilgharrah, last of the Great Dragons, guarding the shaking form of the last Dragonlord; Merlin curled at his ancient kin’s feet, one trembling hand flung outward in a frightening picture of magic’s interrupted protection.

 

Gathering his robes, Gaius adjusted the medical bag under his arm and hurried to Merlin’s side. “Bandits?” he determined, surveying the charred bodies at the outskirts of the clearing.

 

“A great many,” the dragon confirmed, adjusting the wing closest to Merlin as a biting wind whipped through the surrounding treetops.

 

“What happened?” Gaius asked, kneeling next to Merlin, tracing the cold skin and rapid, shallow breaths to a blood-soaked tear in the faded blue shirt.

 

The creak of Kilgharrah’s scales as he shifted was the sound of time itself in motion; the intake of air before his response the same breath once drawn by those in the great tales of old. “The wound itself is not severe.”

 

Gaius quickly confirmed Kilgharrah’s assessment, finding that the laceration along Merlin’s ribcage – clearly from a crossbow bolt’s graze - was deep, but not life-threatening. Eyes flashing, he shot Kilgharrah a pointed look.

 

_You know what I meant. Merlin was alone and obviously protecting himself with magic. What stopped him?_

He came to the gut-wrenching answer at the very moment Kilgharrah gave it voice.

 

“The bolt was poisoned,” the dragon intoned solemnly.

 

Gaius released a breath that was half-anger, half-despair, left hand maintaining pressure on the wound as his right began sorting through the vials in his kit, mind working to match symptoms to known poisons and remedies. “Was he still conscious after summoning you?” he asked, eyeing a green-tinted liquid.

 

“Merlin did not summon me,” Kilgharrah drew himself up, response sharp with human offense. “The dimming of such powerful magic is as distressing to my kind as it is to the one who possesses it. I could not ignore Merlin’s suffering, even if I wanted to.” He paused, eyes hardening at the thought of the bandits as he moved onto answering Gaius’s question. “However, by the time I arrived, he was as you see him now.”

 

Gaius’s shoulders slumped, the green vial dismissed.

 

“I have tried to help him heal, but the poison has already affected his mind,” Kilgharrah said.

 

“Then I fear we’re both too late.” Gaius was all too accustomed to delivering bad news; those words far from unfamiliar. But his voice wavered under stricken, weary eyes as he spoke them; professional boundaries broken by personal anguish.

 

“I did not bring you here to watch Merlin die.” Kilgharrah’s reply sounded almost chiding; his words colored with the humor of one who had some private knowledge and was waiting for the other person to catch up.

 

‘ _Then why have you brought me here?’ _Gaius’s heart demanded as he recalled Kilgharrah’s voice in his mind, waking him from sleep with an urgent summons and unspoken guidance to the clearing; a summons Gaius didn’t think he’d had the power to receive in the first place.

 

“It is not that Merlin is _beyond_ my help, but that he will not _accept_ it,” Kilgharrah began to explain. “The poison runs deep, affecting both his mind and his magic so that he no longer recognizes our kinship. Even as death beckons, the young warlock has great power. I cannot force my presence, though I mean him no harm, when his magic will not allow it.”

 

Gaius’s chest tightened at the cruelty of this poison; one that twisted Merlin’s magic to not only deny him control of its protection, but made it fight against Kilgharrah’s magic, the very magic Merlin himself was born of.

 

The magic that could save his life.

 

Gaius shook his head, both not trusting himself to speak and unsure of what to say. His eyes were rooted to Merlin’s dusky lips and ineffective gasping, his ears echoing with Kilgharrah’s cryptic, yet - so far as Gaius could tell - hopeless words. He didn’t understand. How was this _not_ the end, if Merlin’s dying magic denied him his only chance at life?

 

“The bond between the dragons and dragonlords is as ancient as the earth itself,” Kilgharrah continued, tone shifting from explanatory to vaguely prompting. “The kinship between Merlin and I was written long before either of us drew breath. Yet there are _other_ bonds…..”

 

Gaius looked up at Kilgharrah’s pause, into gold eyes heavy with history and destiny; a mirror of Merlin’s own as his magic flowed. The dragon’s face settled into a reassuringly human concern, eyes softening from the intense burn of centuries of existence to the warm comfort of a fire on a cold night.

 

And Gaius suddenly understood; Kilgharrah’s purpose, though unspoken, as clear in his heart as the dragon’s telepathic summons had been in his mind.

 

Merlin and Kilgharrah may have been bonded as creatures of magic, but Merlin the lost, lonely boy who came to Camelot in desperate need of purpose and guidance had found safety, love, and acceptance with _Gaius_ long before Merlin the warlock of prophecy had commanded Kilgharrah’s loyalty and respect.

 

Kilgharrah’s eyes shifted, sensing Gaius’s understanding and affirming it with a silent, unspoken hope:

 

_Perhaps your presence will enable him to accept mine._

Gaius’s eyes dropped back to Merlin, right hand leaving his kit and reaching for Merlin’s outstretched one. The boy’s extremities were cold, his breathing barely adequate; the very picture of a body shutting down. Death prowled at Kilgharrah and Gaius’s backs, seeking an opening to its weakened prey as destiny screamed with shocked denial, with the utter _wrongness_ of what was happening.

 

Though often at war with its effect on his boy, at that moment, Gaius had to agree with destiny.

 

This was _wrong_.

 

Gaius had vowed, long ago, that were he forced to suffer the pain of Merlin dying before him, he would do everything in his power to ease the boy’s way, both as a skilled physician and a devoted surrogate father. Secretly however, Gaius hoped to never have to honor that vow, focusing instead on either healing Merlin _after_ he got into trouble or offering his guidance - and sometimes even his own life - in order to keep the boy _out_ of it. He had done them all before, more than once, and while it certainly appeased destiny’s plans for Merlin, Gaius didn’t do it for destiny. He did it for _Merlin_. For devotion and love of a boy who returned both tenfold, brightening Gaius’s life beyond measure.

 

It was those truths, those honest, human qualities, that had brought Gaius to the clearing at Kilgharrah’s call and destiny’s prayer. Gaius could feel Kilgharrah’s gaze, the world around them holding its breath, waiting, as one of the Old Religion’s most ancient creatures entrusted Merlin’s survival to an old physician’s bond with a young man at whose name destiny trembled while Gaius’s heart swelled only with love.

 

Gaius’s shoulders lost their defeated slump, purpose settling around him like a familiar, bracing cloak. He was a physician, a healer, and one good enough to recognize that his patient’s treatment required not years of learned skill, but rather simple presence and the absence of thought. Because what Merlin needed was his love and care; two things that would always be as instinctive and natural to Gaius as magic was to Merlin.

 

Eyes never leaving Merlin’s face, Gaius squeezed the out flung hand before moving to smooth grass and dirt-matted hair back from the pale forehead. “Merlin,” he said softly.

 

Merlin shifted under the touch of the familiar, calloused hand. He knew not only that voice – safety personified – but also that tone; that ‘you’ve been ill, but it’s all right. I’m here and you’ll heal, so just rest’ reassurance. “Gaius?” he croaked, shuddering violently as attempting to open his eyes only caused them to shut tighter. “Hurts,” he whimpered, trying to curl further into himself, panting with the effort those two words demanded of him.

 

“I know, my boy,” Gaius soothed, heart breaking even as it sang with Merlin’s recognition and response. “The poison has set in, beyond my skill to treat, I’m afraid. But Kilgharrah wishes to help, if you’ll permit him.”

 

“Thank you,” Merlin breathed, gratitude and tacit permission thick within two painfully reedy syllables, hardly more than a wheeze. His chest heaved, neck muscles straining to compensate for the shallow expansion, desperately trying to regain the precious air used by those words. But the air didn’t come. With a pained jerk and strangled cry, Merlin’s body stiffened and began to convulse.

 

“Shhh,” Gaius whispered, abandoning pressure on the wound to place one hand under Merlin’s head for protection, the other on his back, keeping him on his side as he gagged through the spasms.

 

There were those who would have shouted for Kilgharrah to hurry, demanding instant relief, immediate results. But Gaius was a physician and a patient man. He knew that treatment, magical or not, took some measure of time. So he maintained Merlin’s physical safety, ensured that the boy knew he wasn’t alone, and waited.

 

He did not wait long.

 

Death howled with unrestrained fury, its bone-chilling rage at being denied soon outdone by destiny’s joyful shout at time being set right; light conquering impending darkness as Kilgharrah reached out with his magic. Gaius could _hear_ the words, though none were spoken; _felt_ the power of the Old Religion surrounding Merlin - stopping bleeding, flushing the poison from his overwhelmed system, offering the strength to step back from the edge of unspeakable, prophetic failure.

 

Merlin went limp, the seizure ending as abruptly as it began. Then, with a soft breath, he turned further into Gaius’s touch, eyelashes fluttering against his mentor’s palm as his muscles relaxed into an all too rare, restful, untroubled sleep.

 

Keeping the hand pillowed under Merlin’s cheek, Gaius shifted the one from his back to prod beneath the torn fabric, finding that the wound had not only stopped bleeding, but had also lost enough depth to make stitching easier. Gaius felt a smile blossoming within relief-blurred eyes and a shaky huff of emotion-laden breath as he wondered - not for the first time - how he’d been blessed with such a gift as Merlin’s love and trust.

 

A softened breeze sighed through the clearing; the calm after the storm. It was as if the earth itself were rejoicing, offering the weary guardians a fresh breath of air while ruffling their mutual ward’s coat with the same gentle fondness shining in the eyes of the physician savoring each rise and fall of the chest beneath the worn material.

 

Overwhelming relief gave way to professionalism once more as Gaius shook himself from his private indulgence, gently removing the hand serving as Merlin’s pillow and turning to his medical bag. Stifling a wince as he shifted on aching knees, he began gathering supplies to treat the wound, unconsciously ensuring that his robes never stopped being close enough to brush Merlin’s lax fingers.

 

Lifting Merlin’s shirt to expose the wound, Gaius’s hands stilled, cloth poised over the laceration. He looked up into Kilgharrah’s steady eyes, tilting his head in a muted bow. “Thank you,” he said, surprising himself at how calmly those two words, which encompassed so much, came out over the flood of feelings in his heart.

 

_Thank you for bringing him back to me._

_Thank you for watching over him._

 

Kilgharrah dipped his head in return. “In this, physician,” he replied to Gaius’s latter, silent statement, “our paths are not so different.”

 

Gaius nodded, lips quirking slightly as he began cleaning Merlin’s wound, pleased and relieved at the confirmation of Kilgharrah’s continued commitment to Merlin’s safety.

 

The ensuing silence was broken as a rush of birds took flight overhead.

 

Gaius glanced back toward where his horse was tethered beyond the tree line. “You’d better go,” he said, drying the wound and exchanging cloth for needle and thread. “I believe that Gwaine may have sensed my urgency as I left the city. Once he finds Merlin missing, he’s sure to follow me here.” He looked up at Kilgharrah again, respect and gratitude sharing equal weight in his face. “I’ll stay with him.” His eyes sought Merlin’s peaceful face briefly before returning to the dragon, strong with promise.

 

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Kilgharrah replied, ancient eyes offering that same respect and gratitude back to the physician; a silent, honest, ‘thank you’ of his own. The golden gaze then shifted to Merlin - depthless destiny-laden loyalty and knowledge mixed with a human’s relieved, soft fondness - before, with a nod – one protector to another – Kilgharrah spread his wings and flew beyond Camelot’s sight.

 

And so it was, an hour later, that Gwaine rode into the clearing to find not a worn page from Camelot’s magic-bound, forbidden history, but a simple, unfolding tale of its present. For there lay a pale, weak, and bandaged Merlin – Gwaine’s one true friend – being gently propped up and medicated by Gaius, the court physician who held him as dear as a son.

 

If the clearing around them happened to hold the charred bodies of over a dozen bandits, Gwaine paid it no mind. Merlin was alive, Gaius’s eyes shone with assurance that he’d _stay_ that way, and Gwaine would see both of them safely home.

 

All was right with the world.

 

   


End file.
